


To Let Go of You

by rubycrowned



Series: Trying To Call Home [2]
Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, awful terrible angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: I shouldn't love you, but I want to, I just can't turn away. I shouldn't see you, but I can't move, I can't look away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Let Go of You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with 1D, I do not presume to know anything about their personal lives
> 
> A/N: Ok, so, back due to popular demand (lol, mostly because I couldn't quite bear to leave this 'verse well alone), we have a Ziam sequel/side-fic to Trying To Call Home (you don't have to have read it before this, it's written as a standalone, but probably advised). This one was based around Jesse McCartney's 'Just So You Know'. Again thanks so much to my wonderful beta, Ari. As per usual, comments are welcome and appreciated.

Zayn slides into a seat in the back pew. The cathedral is almost full, and the ceremony has already begun, but the back couple rows are still close to empty and Zayn moves quietly, leaving his late entrance largely unnoticed.  
He tugs on his tie, absentmindedly trying to dispel the constrictive feeling that seems to be progressively cutting off his airway. As his gaze moves forward, past the family, the friends, all dressed in their finest for this happy occasion, past the select few photographers allowed anywhere near the venue, Zayn’s eyes alight on Harry and Louis, eyes bright and smiles beaming as they stand at the front. Even from the back Zayn can see their hands twitch as they fight the impulse to grip the other’s tightly.

It had been over six months since Zayn had received the texts. First had been the message from Louis; 'Els gone. and ive talked to harry.' Bewildered and somewhat concerned, Zayn was unsure how to treat this, when his phone had buzzed again, this time with Harry's name appearing on his screen. 'He came back zayn. he came back to /me/’. He was just starting to get seriously worried when Harry seemed to read his mind, and a final message swiftly followed; 'stop frowning, you'll get wrinkles. its going to be different now :)'. And Zayn still hadn't been sure about this, had seen too much heartache in the previous two years to not be left just a little cynical, but he hadn't heard such simple happiness from Harry in far too long; he couldn't bring himself to ruin that straight away.

And, thank whatever god was out there, he never had to. While Zayn knew it hadn't come easy, the two of them had been working it out, and today, if nothing else, was testament to the fact that they clearly made each other happier than either had ever been apart.

Smiling despite himself, Zayn's glance drifted to the face next to them. Best man Niall couldn't control the glee overtaking his expression either, the blonde appearing barely able to stifle barks of delight at his friends' joyous day.

The scene all looked so perfect. There wasn't even a suggestion that someone was missing from the line-up, someone who, not that long ago - although it feels like another life – would have been unquestionably there with them, who would have felt like a missing limb to the rest if he was absent. A twinge of guilt stabbed Zayn in the abdomen, but it was pushed aside by a much heavier, much more uncomfortable feeling which settled in his stomach as his eyes finally led him to the centre stage show.

Danielle, of course, looked stunning. She had chosen a dress which was traditional and understated, with details Zayn couldn’t quite make out from the back, but which he was sure would be discussed in every tabloid around, come Monday. He was also sure that it was something that, like the rest of the service, was a perfect fit for Liam.

An ache set up somewhere deep in Zayn’s chest as he found himself staring at the face of the man he loved. He could trace from memory every feature of that face, had done so, in fact, yet Zayn felt his breath catch as he witnessed the sheer beauty before him. The world narrowed only to Liam, and Zayn could almost forget the reason why he had hardly seen his friend in months, years now.

The minister had been reciting some sort of sermon or story or some such thing when Zayn had entered, and he had consequently zoned him out since. But the deep, steady voice was brought back into stark relief as Liam’s quiet glow was interrupted for a moment, as the minister looked from Danielle (even now Zayn’s fists clenched slightly at the mere thought of her name, ridiculous, Malik, get yourself together) to glance around the room, a small frown knitting his brows together.

“...or just impediment, why these two persons should not be joined in Holy Matrimony-”

Liam’s gaze met Zayn’s.

“...or forever hold your peace.”

***

It wasn’t really falling, the way Zayn feelings grew for Liam. It was more like floating.

When they were first thrown together, five boys at the beginning of a ride of a lifetime, Zayn was drowning and Liam was a life raft. Everything was moving incredibly fast, and Zayn was, he was stoked, he was enjoying every second, but. He had never found making friends easy, could never quite figure out how to just strike up a conversation, be the one to let them in instantly to his life; it just took him some time, is all. And Niall was boisterous and loud, he was cheerful and Irish and a ball of blonde sunshine; and Harry and Louis were, well, Harry and Louis. Zayn loved them all, laughed and tussled and couldn’t believe he had been put with such complete nutters, who he wouldn’t exchange for anything. But sometimes it was all so overwhelming; the noise, the complete lack of personal space.

And Liam would be there.

Liam was as mental as the rest of them when he wanted to be, but he also earned every fond tease that his ‘Daddy Direction’ nickname got him. A calm, reassuring hand would often be there, giving Zayn’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, sometimes before Zayn even realised his jaw was clenched, his fingers itching for a cigarette. It wasn’t a matter of irritation; it was a simple need for a moment of quiet. So the fact that Liam understood that, would give him a short nod and a small smile as Zayn snuck out for a quick fag; the fact that more and more often Liam would stand quietly and wander out with him, stand in comfortable silence with him, even though Zayn knew Liam couldn’t stand the stink, was something which endeared him to Zayn.

He found someone in Liam who he could take a step back with, who wasn’t instantly and always comfortable with the constant touching and petting, even if it was from boys who were quickly becoming the closest thing to brothers either had ever had. Someone who would sit and listen when Zayn was insecure about his voice, his dancing, and who would let him help in return. Who he could help. Who Zayn could go find, in the early hours of the morning as he wandered down the hall, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and find an exhausted Liam, voice wrecked, but still trying to hit every note, terrified of letting the other boys down. Who he could wordlessly reach out to, pulling Liam to him in a loose embrace. It wasn’t like the daytime ambushes by Louis, the bear-like hugs of Niall; this was pure comfort, a whisper in the darkness of stop Li, please. And with a tug on his hand, Liam would trail behind Zayn to the boys’ room, both climbing silently into their beds, a secret for just the two of them.

Liam kept Zayn afloat, and Zayn in turn stopped Liam from sinking under the weight of all the responsibility he placed on himself.

Liam was Zayn’s best mate.

But as he was floating, Zayn drifted further, eyes half-lidded in contentment, until he wound up somewhere he never intended to be.

The curve of Liam’s smile. The way his voice increased in pitch when he got truly excited and swept up in this crazy thing that had become their life. The grip of his fingers on his mic when he sang. Zayn wasn’t sure he should be noticing these things, but surely it was just a natural extension of how close they had become over the past couple months? All the boys had gotten pretty attuned to each other.

The way Liam’s trousers clung to his ass as he wandered over to talk to Harry after dress rehearsal.

Whoops.

So maybe Zayn did fall a little at the end there.

*** 

Afterwards, Zayn was numb.

He wasn’t quite sure why; everything his life had revolved around had broken apart, and surely that, if nothing else, was enough to tear him to agony.

But it was almost a relief to him; not to feel anymore.

Not to feel such an overwhelming desire to be close to the one person he couldn’t have. Who wouldn’t have him.

Not to find his eyes once more dragging along the length of his body, meeting eyes filled with kindness, but also the gentlest, most torturous rejection.

Not to have his entire being ache with the effort of not reaching out and pulling Liam in, pressing lips against lips, hips against hips.

Not to need to try and find the energy to turn away.

But to be able to finally, finally, turn off all the feelings which had left his heart a bruised and torn lump of muscle, unfit to be seen.

It was a relief.

***

There had been a time when Zayn had harboured a secret hope that he and Liam could be together one day; that the looks, with eyes on fire, and the touches which had become more frequent, more intimate, all signalled that Liam wanted, needed the contact; wanted, needed Zayn as much as he needed Liam.

It was a time that Zayn both treasured in the deepest recesses of his soul, and wished more than anything he could erase, if only to take away the accompanying ache for something that never was, never would be.

Because just when he had almost worked up the courage, nearly closed that smallest of distances, wide as canyons, someone else had slipped between them.

Danielle.

And as she daintily rose on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Liam’s soft pout, Liam’s lips lifted at the corners. Over time it grew into a full-blown smile, complete with the crinkling eyes Zayn loved so much. Only instead of sending him into his own cheek-splitting grin, stomach swooping, now Zayn’s own lips turned down as Liam’s quirked up, until they were an unsettling parody of the classic tragedy and comedy; except Zayn was the only one wearing a mask, hiding that tear stained face beneath.

And that only served to make Zayn hate himself just a little. Not because Danielle had made the move that he could never quite make, although there was that too, but because Danielle made Liam happy. And why the hell was Zayn begrudging her that, when, when it all came down to it, that was all Zayn ever really wanted for Liam. Just not with her.

Liam was still Zayn’s best mate, and vice versa. They still hung out in ridiculous amounts, even off tour when surely they’d had enough of each other by now, when they could be off with family, other friends, girlfriends. Liam did, of course, go out and spend the day, the night, or very occasionally the weekend with Danielle, but that was only to be expected. And Zayn needed to spend more time with Niall anyway (not so much Louis and Harry; they were so sickeningly in love most of the time you almost had to crack a window to let the sap out). Not even Zayn could resist the pure joy of the Irish lad for long before he too was nearly doubled with laughter.

There were still whispered secrets, stories and jokes and fears they hadn’t told anyone else. There were still hugs, and comforting hands, and falling asleep on the sofa, legs tangled and heads fallen on shoulders and laps.

Nothing had changed.

Only everything.

***

Liam’s eyes widened slightly as he continued to stare at Zayn.

Zayn had no idea how he could tell that from so far away, but it happened.

No-one else had noticed anything, why would they? No-one ever actually stands up dramatically, declaring just in the nick of time “STOP THE WEDDING”, like they do in the movies. No-one wants that to actually happen; the day which is supposed to be the happiest of their lives to be ruined by a few crushing words. No-one wants to be the person to do that, either.

But Zayn had never quite figured out how to look away from Liam.

And Liam was still staring.

***

Zayn’s knee tapped restlessly beneath the table. Don’t look over at him. Focus on what management is saying. Just because he is sitting right next to you, and his leg is pressing against yours...stop it. Don’t-

A warm hand pressed gently down to take hold of Zayn’s knee, stilling it. It rubbed soothingly up and down his thigh, fingers slipping distractingly high up his inseam, not quite indecent. Because Liam was only trying to comfort his friend who was clearly wound up about something. He wasn’t to know that it was him Zayn was worked up over; he certainly wasn’t to know that him ‘helping’ was just making the situation infinitely more uncomfortable. And Liam’s touches were always so ambiguous, or at least they were to Zayn’s imagination; always just this side of friendly, just too lingering to be completely innocent; none of this had changed in the months since Danielle became part of Liam’s life. But that only made Zayn feel worse; because surely that meant that there was never anything between him and Liam at all, that Zayn had been making it all up from the start? Liam was just being warm and affectionate to his best mate, and Zayn was a crazy teenage girl with a crush.

The hand on his leg stopped abruptly, grip squeezing Zayn’s leg; he gritted his teeth at the change in contact, but any noise that was threatening to escape died in his throat when he dared a quick glance at Liam’s face. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were narrowed at the management team opposite them. Confusion mounting, Zayn tuned back into the discussion going on around him.

“...and since we don’t think that time has come yet, we think it’s best if one of you starts dating. A woman, that is. And since Louis seems to have the most rumours circling, we have decided to hire someone to fill that position for him. Eleanor is-”

The room was suddenly too small as four outraged voices filled the air. Zayn could hear his own voice adding to the chorus of Niall, Harry and Liam. He didn’t really know what he was saying, but it was the sentiment behind the words that he really needed to get across. This was wrong on so many levels, not half because management had now gone past the already damnable stage of denying Louis and Harry’s relationship; now they wanted to actively disguise it with a fake relationship, without even consulting them about it.

And Louis.

Louis sat there stunned, seemingly oblivious to the commotion around him, looking for all the world like someone had just turned his entire world upside down. So fairly appropriate, really.

Zayn stopped his yelling, shooting management only a dirty look as he walked around the table towards the door, giving Louis’ shoulder a squeeze as he passed him. The other voices fell silent as he opened the door, then looked back at the occupants of the room.

“Leave. Now.” Zayn’s tone was steely, asking no compromise as he stared the team of suits down. One of them looked like he wanted to say something else, but quickly changed his mind, instead giving himself a quick nod and pushing a thin manila folder across the table, in the general direction of Louis. They all filed out until only the boys remained, all standing now in a loose formation from watching the outward procession. A beat of silence, then-

“No. NO.”

Harry had flung himself at Louis, attacking him with grasping fingers as he tried to do god-knows-what. Find something to take this out on? Find someone to fix it?

And that wasn’t - couldn’t - be Louis right now. Louis looked like he was going to cave in on himself at any moment; soon one of Harry’s pinches would pop a hole in the older boy and he would deflate to nothing before their very eyes.

Liam was trying to help, trying to separate the two boys before they broke completely. But that had never been the easiest of tasks, at the best of times they would be stuck like glue, clambering over one another. In distress, Harry was gripping at Louis like he was the only thing keeping him from drowning, and Louis was taking on water.

And Zayn recognised that feeling with a lurch in his chest, unable to stop himself from wrapping himself around the younger boy, securing him, letting him know that the world might feel like it was ending, but it would be okay, someone was here, he could survive this. “Harry, hey, come on now, mate. Harryharryharry,” he whispered nonsense into Harry’s ear, muffled slightly by the brown curls, unruly as ever, beneath his lips.

Harry was still heaving violent, dry sobs, and was resisting the arms restraining him. Zayn was determined though, and continued to hold his friend until the fighting jerks became less frequent, and the sobs were quietened, if no less painful; Harry’s body slumped against Zayn, falling into the embrace, and finally releasing Louis from his white-knuckled clutches. After receiving a small nod of agreement, Zayn was able to slowly support Harry to the bathroom next door, promising to clean him up for his adoring fans, doubtlessly waiting outside the building for them to leave.

Thankfully, the bathroom was one of those private, fancy ones; it actually had a chair for Zayn to carefully drop Harry into, and instead of blow-dryers or those rough paper towels, they had actual towels to dry your hands with. Zayn took one of these from its ring and waited for the water to warm up so he could dampen it.

Harry had almost gotten his breathing under control by the time Zayn turned around again, and he consented to tilting his head back a little when Zayn knelt in front of him to lightly wipe away the dirty streaks left by angry tears, and soothe the red spots still high in Harry’s cheeks. Neither had spoken again, except for low murmurs to look in one direction or another, since leaving the other room, and it had been a comfortable silence, but Zayn felt he needed to say something, reassure Harry with the words he had tried to convey in his vice-like hug earlier.

“You know we’re here for you, right, Harry? That we know this is all bullshit?”

Zayn didn’t think Harry quite trusted his voice yet, but his eyelids made a slow blink of agreement, a single fresh tear squeezing out the corner of his eye. Zayn reached out to catch it with the towel before it dripped off Harry’s chin, and couldn’t help but feel sorrow at the shining green of those huge eyes; Zayn couldn’t remember the last time Harry had looked this young. He gently squeezed the other boy’s knee before standing to retrieve a dry towel.

“I know, I – god don’t I know -” Zayn muttered the second part under his breath, placing the damp towel in the sink, then continued, “this is not easy, this is the opposite of easy, but Li’s right you know, Haz? This will only be temporary. You will get to come out to the public eventually, even if it can’t be right now. And at least this...thing... will be nothing more than a show. You and Louis, you and him are real. And nothing can change that.” Zayn paused once more, “For now, you just have to be patient. You just have to wait for Lou to come back to you.”

Suddenly, Zayn felt a sharp tug on his shoulder and he was spun around to come face to face with Harry. His hair formed a dark halo above him and the green of his eyes had hardened. His hand was still on Zayn’s shoulder, and his thumb was digging in beneath Zayn’s collarbone uncomfortably.

“Harry? Wh-”

Harry pushes him and turns away abruptly.

“No Zayn. I can’t- I WILL NOT BE YOU, OKAY?”

The words are loud, and the close proximity leaves Zayn’s ears ringing and his head pounding as they echo around his head.

He was never sure just how much the other boys had guessed about Zayn and Liam’s relationship, or Zayn’s feelings concerning his band mate. But more than he thought, it appeared. Because, really, that pretty much summed it up, didn’t it?

Zayn felt cool tile as he slid down the wall ‘til he was sitting on the hard floor, head resting back against the wall, eyes blessedly closed as he shut the rest of the world out to black. He heard the door next to him, the one to the toilet, shut as Harry locked himself in.

One lone thought still rattled around in Zayn’s head, one he wasn’t brave enough to verbalise.

At least you know Louis will always come back to you.

***

And everything was gone, but Zayn couldn’t feel it, so it was ok.

And Harry moved in with Zayn and they were both broken and scarred and barely hanging by a thread; Harry feeling too much and Zayn not enough.

And everything was wrong, but somehow, just for an infinitesimal moment, they were right.

And in the dark of night (or maybe it was day, Zayn couldn’t really tell the difference anymore) there was fumbling, grasping hands, low moans choked by sobs, saliva mixing with sweat mixing with tears.

And it was comfort, but it wasn’t what either of them really wanted, what either of them really needed; Zayn couldn’t speak for Harry, but all he felt was a hollow echo in the space where his heart used to be.

And Harry moved out, was trying to move one, leaving Zayn in the dark, alone in the flat which haunted him, taunted him with a hundred thousand memories.

And the emptiness started to scare Zayn; the numbness had been a relief, but now it left him clumsy, unfunctioning.

And Zayn tried to find something, anything, to make him feel, what, he didn’t care; alcohol, drugs, girls, boys; one time, a blade.

And he wondered what it would take to make him feel alive again.

***

What? What do you want me to do?

Zayn was sure no wedding had ever had a pause this long, as if the minister was certain that someone must object to the ceremony.

But it can’t have been more than a few seconds; Danielle’s eyes were still trained on Liam’s face, probably still unaware that Zayn was even present. He had a feeling several other pairs of eyes were watching the exchange, but they weren’t hers, and Zayn was pretty sure they would be filled with concern, for both boys.

And it wasn’t fair, Liam doing this now. It had been so long, and Zayn had moved on; I have, he protested weakly against the throbbing in his chest. Zayn had given Liam his heart; let him keep it locked up for years, without ever a promise for something more.

So why would he do this now? Stare at him with a silent plead which Zayn just didn’t know how to deal with.

Zayn shook his head minutely, a small, sad smile twisting his lips.

No more waiting.

***

Zayn never blamed Harry for what he said that day, or any other day. He understood too well already, and Harry was actually in a relationship with Louis; Zayn didn’t think he wanted to know what that felt like.

Instead, Zayn welcomed Harry into his flat when Lou left for his ‘dates’ with Eleanor, lent him a shoulder and ear when he needed to vent, or a sofa to quietly just be when he didn’t, couldn’t. He reassured Harry that everything would turn out fine; after all, they were Harry and Louis. Louis and Harry. They had to survive, because if they couldn’t survive, passion and fire and endless, burning love, then what hope did the rest of them have?

The day Harry stormed into Zayn’s flat, unable to stand, sit, talk, only to be followed by a distressed Louis, was the beginning of the end. When Louis told him that he had cheated on Harry with Eleanor, Zayn had to fight every fibre of his being not to punch him, right there in the corridor. But just when he couldn’t stand it any longer – “I do love him, Zayn. So, so much” – all Zayn could see was Liam’s face, and he just, he couldn’t do it. He left Louis, alone in the hall, to tend to the boy who was sobbing in Zayn’s bedroom.

And when, a week later, he received a txt from Harry saying only “Hes gone. what do i do?”, Zayn rushed over immediately, finding his friend rocking on the floor, wearing only a pair of boxers, with his knees tucked under his chin. This time there was no reassurance to be had, only blind comfort in the warmth of a loved one wrapping themselves around him, delicately carrying him to his room, the familiarity of well-worn sheets and soft hushes falling into muffles ears as gentle fingers carded through curls.

They tried to carry on as before, but they were barely fooling everyone else, let alone themselves.

***

Eventually, Zayn found something which finally managed to evoke a small flutter of emotion within him, stiff from disuse.

Art had always been a source of solace for Zayn, even when the only pieces he had time to create were the small sketches and caricatures he drew with ball point pen on whatever scraps of paper happened to be lying around the tour bus.

Liam had always encouraged the hobby; he was the first person who wasn't (technically) his family to call a piece of his beautiful. It had been a small piece; one of those square, ready-stretched canvas blocks he'd picked up on a whim. Broad strokes of blues and warm yellow, with slightly surprising hints of green and pink, it reminded Zayn of sunshine, an accurate reflection of how life had been back then. Liam had been the first person he had shown it to when he was done, chewing absently at the skin around his thumb nail, nervous for his response. The smile that had lit up Liam’s face rivalled the brightness of the painting, and Zayn ached for the talent to put that expression on paper or canvas; something he could hold onto and keep close to him. He already has all of me; I only want a piece of him.

So art reminded Zayn of Liam; art was just another thing which was out of bounds for him now.

But one day, Zayn found a stub of charcoal, rolled under a pile of junk on the counter. He lifted it up to inspect it, rolling it between thumb and forefinger, blackness smudging the skin it touched.

Several hours later, he sat back to contemplate his work. It was simply a sketch on the back of a letter, a replication of the empty room before him. It was cold and stark in the black lines on white; harsh, cold, lonely. It hurt Zayn to see what his life had become, when there used to be evidence everywhere of five teenage boys, and the carnage left in their wake; there was no denying the hollow shell it portrayed, he, after all, was the one who took it down.

And then he startled. It had hurt Zayn, seeing the drawing in front of him. There was a stab in his chest, small but overwhelming after such a time spent drowning in a heavy numbness.

It wasn’t pleasant, but, after so long, it was something.

***

They came back by degrees.

Feelings. The boys.

Zayn had isolated himself so thoroughly in the weeks, months, after the band split that it was no wonder he felt disconnected to even those he had been closest to.

Even Harry, who had seen him at his worst, just as Zayn had seen him. But Zayn did try with Harry, after Harry moved out, got his own place; a tiny thing, anonymous. Harry was as scarred as Zayn was, but he was at least trying to move on.

He enrolled in an art course.

It was difficult, trying to express feelings he wasn’t sure he had anymore, could barely remember. But in trying to do so, Zayn found that maybe they were there, just hidden, lying dormant.

Everything was muted now, mauve and forest green, hints of indigo and the occasional worn-out bronze, lacking the intensity, the fire.

Louis fought his way back into Zayn's life, clawed through his apathy and resculpted the hollow in Zayn's side meant only for Lou. He too was hollow, missing pieces, but Zayn thought Louis hid it better.

Niall was never really lost to Zayn, not really. Even during the darkest times, even from Ireland, Niall could give Zayn a fuzzy hint of sunlight. He still had a couple of Niall's messages saved to his voicemail; now they even made him smile.

He didn't see Liam, didn't speak of him. Harry always gave Zayn a heads up if Liam was planning on meeting then at the pub during one of Niall's visits; Louis mentioned him no more than Zayn did Harry.

This didn't mean he wasn't part of Zayn's life. Tucked away in his wardrobe was a small but significant stack of notebooks, of loose pieces of heavy paper. Sketchbooks were filled with haphazard outlines, carefully detailed sketches, the odd painting in acrylic or watercolour. Here, lay Liam; here lay Zayn's heart, trapped in chocolate eyes, in red lips (for here there was colour; finally, life).

They were for Zayn only. He didn't take any particular pleasure from them, unable to believe in their accuracy from his memory, unable to truly enjoy the image if it was without the accompanying voice, touch. No. These were just Zayn's way of keeping a part of Liam, all to himself; something no one would ever be - had ever been - able to see.

When Louis and Harry officially announced that they’re going to give their relationship another go, and Zayn had enough time to process it this time, he cried for the first time in two years. The tears were bittersweet. He might have still been spending time with his friends, but he still missed them – they were never really Harry and Louis unless they were together; co-dependent, definitely, unhealthy, maybe, but that’s who they were and Zayn knew that neither had managed to be happy apart. But still, it made his heart stutter a little, thinking what he had missed out on.

It was almost funny, in a twisted sort of way; it was Louis and Harry who had split the seams which held the band together, great cracks splitting the two lads into fragile, broken pieces. But it was Liam and Zayn’s relationship which had truly crumbled, which had proven to be irreparable.

And that was the thing; huge cracks might seem horrific but, with a careful eye and gentle touch, they can also be mended. The repair might not be perfect, there may still be gaps, a permanent scar; they serve as a reminder though, a sign of character, of resilience.

But chips. Chips wear away, slowly but surely. And you might not notice for a while that any damage had even occurred, but eventually you look down and see only a fragment of the original, and the lost bits can't ever be recovered.

***

The band was divided. Not on the surface, everyone was still talking, still hanging out together. There may have been a person missing more often than there used to be, but they were holding. Occasionally they laughed. But Harry was glued to Zayn’s side now, and Liam seemed to focus an awful lot of concerned attention on Louis. Only Niall seemed truly neutral, no-one could ever ask that boy to choose between his friends, torn enough under the strain already.

Liam and Zayn...changed. What had always been friendly touches turned more forceful, intense; they would bicker over things which would normally roll right off them. Zayn thought it must have been to do with the stress of Harry and Louis, but, while he knew why he was standing up for Harry, he just couldn’t understand why Liam was so suddenly protective of Louis. They had always been close enough, but not nearly the closest of the band, and Liam was the kind of guy who took faithfulness seriously. It didn’t make sense.

And then Liam kissed Zayn.

It wasn’t the first time they had shared a kiss before. But it had always been a joke; a peck for the cameras, to play up their bromance, or down play Larry Stylinson; or a sloppy, drunken dare, one that Zayn was always more than happy to fulfil in his inebriated state. And that was another point; it had always been Zayn who initiated any contact of that sort, never Liam.

This kiss wasn’t like any of their others. It wasn’t brief, it wasn’t fuelled by alcohol, and it definitely wasn’t nothing.

They were headed back to their respective flats after an evening at Niall’s and Liam has to grab his phone from Zayn’s after leaving it there that afternoon somehow and then being too lazy to walk the hundred metres back from Niall’s to get it any earlier. Zayn was just turning from shutting the door behind them when Liam has his cheeks in his hands, lips melded together.

It isn’t tender. There is teeth and force and, when Zayn finally finds the brain function to respond, tongue licking messily into his mouth. It is everything Zayn has wanted, everything he never expected. It is over far too soon. Forever would have been too soon.

But eventually Liam pulled back, shakily wiping a hand over his face.

“I- I just wanted to know what it was like.”

Zayn lost the dazed feeling he’d been stuck in ever since Liam’s lips first touched his. Instead, he focused on the cracking voice in front of him; confusion mounted as he met Liam’s eyes and saw them shimmering. “Li?”

“Just once. I needed to know, just once, what it’d be like to kiss you. What’d it be like to be loved by you.”

Zayn tried hard not to let his face show any of the emotions rapidly building inside him. “And?” He hoped his voice came across as indifferent and not tinged with the desperation he thought it might.

“I think I might love you.”

It was the words Zayn had been waiting for what felt like his entire life. But not like this. Not when Liam sounded so broken admitting it. Not when tears were starting to spill from Liam’s eyes. Not when it sounded like the unhappiness of recent times was only about to increase.

“So, why don’t I feel like that’s enough for you?”

“Because I’m with Danielle, Zayn.” Both flinched at her name, but Liam continued. “Because I’m in love with her. Because I’m not- I’ve never...I never meant to fall for you. Because I realised too late. And because I’ve just seen two of our best friends go through hell in the past month, god, in the past year. Because I couldn’t stand losing you like that.”

“Then what was the point of this, if it was never going to be anything. What was the point of you kissing me, Liam?” Zayn’s voice was slowly rising; he couldn’t control it, it was too much.

“Because I needed to. I needed to know what it was like. I needed to know if you loved me too.” Liam’s voice had been matching Zayn’s, but now it dropped, “And I needed to know what it was that I was leaving behind.”

And there it was. Everything laid bare. And it was everything Zayn had always been afraid of.

He still wasn’t enough.

And that snapped something in Zayn.

“Well what about me? What if I do? Coz I fucking do, you know. I love you too. I’ve loved you for years. Since before we were big, before the fame, before Danielle,” he practically spat out the words, “but I left well alone, because I was scared, because then you had someone and I didn’t want to risk hurting you by ruining that, by ruining us. And then you kiss me? You stick your tongue down my throat, and I wasn’t complaining, but Liam, you told me you love me, but that it doesn’t mean anything. Or enough. Whatever. I could handle not having you, of imagining a time, a place, a world where things worked out differently. But getting you for a brief moment, and then being told no. That I don’t know if I can deal with. I don’t think you have to worry about us ruining each other. I think you might’ve done a perfectly fine job, all by yourself.”

Zayn’s voice was hoarse by the end of his speech, and Liam looked like he wanted to crawl in on himself. Zayn didn’t know where to go from there; didn’t know what else to say, didn’t want to hear anything else Liam had to say. So he left.

He wasn’t entirely sure why, it was his flat after all, but it made more sense to him to leave, to go back to Niall’s where he could still hear the laughter from him and Harry, who apparently hadn’t left yet. It was rare to hear Harry laugh these days, and even at this point, Zayn felt guilty at the thought of wrecking that. So he sucked in a deep breath, ignoring what a mess he probably looked like, and stepped inside, joining in the merriment.

He may not have heard the joke, but it was Niall, so it was bound to be funny, which explained why he was soon doubled over laughing. It also explained the way he found he could no longer catch his breath, why hot tears began to squeeze out the corners of his eyes. Why so hilarious, Nialler? Zayn couldn’t get the words out as familiar hands gripped his shoulders, rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades, murmured repeatedly “S’alright, mate. It’s gonna be ok. You’re gonna be ok.”

***

Zayn walked down the corridor, the bag he dragged behind him feeling like it was filled with lead. He was so drained; it had been such a long week, and he had been left exhausted, emotionally and physically, jetlagged and just a little nauseous. All he wanted to do was reach his room, climb into bed and sleep for the next month.

He managed to get the door key to work, and stumbled into the room, tripping over his feet slightly in his fatigue.

At the noise of his entrance, Liam turned from his position on the sofa and sprang up to his feet. “Zayn! You’re back! We weren’t expecting you back for another hour or so, or I would’ve...” His fingers twitched at his side, and Zayn thought wistfully just how much he had missed the other boy.

“Flight got in early, and traffic was light. Thought I’d surprise you,” he said by way of explanation. Liam was still waiting uncertainly by the sofa; Zayn hefted his bag into the corner of the room with some effort, and shut the door behind him, before finally taking pity on the both of them. “Well, c’mere then.”

Liam practically ran into Zayn’s open arms, hitting him with the force of a sack of bricks, clutching him tightly to Liam’s chest. The familiar warmth, familiar scent, was like coming home, and Zayn immediately sagged into the embrace. He was glad, in moments like this, that dating Danielle hadn’t changed the way Liam acted towards Zayn. The ache in his chest had been bothering him all week, attuned to Liam’s absence in his life, and it ratcheted up a few notches at the proximity; it was a comforting ache now though, knowing that he could squeeze Liam even tighter and that, for now at least, Zayn’s actions wouldn’t be questioned.

“I missed you,” Liam mumbles into Zayn’s shoulder, and although muffled by his shirt, he could swear that Liam’s voice was thick with tears; not that he could judge, as tears welled up and threatened to spill over onto his cheeks and into Liam’s jersey.

“I missed you, too.”

They end up back on the sofa, still wrapped around each other, Zayn snuggling his face into Liam’s chest. Almost asleep, he heard Liam murmur from somewhere above his head.

“It’s weird without you here. Please don’t leave again.”

“It’s okay. I don’t know that you could ever get rid of me.”

***

He slipped out the door once the minister started speaking again. Zayn might not have said anything, but that didn’t mean he could bring himself to listen while Liam vowed his love for Danielle.

The still-frosty air hit him as he stepped outside and into the adjoined cemetery. He took a deep breath, the cold burning down into his lungs, then released it with a gasp as he felt a new tear in his heart, ripping right through all the old scars which were woven into it, a pattern of want and longing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt such sharp pain.

His heart was his own now. It had been such a long time since he could say that, could barely remember the sensation. And the sensation was truly overwhelming; it surged through him until he could barely see where he was going as he trailed a path amongst the headstones, sobs racking his body and cutting through the silence.

But that was okay; pain could also signal healing. And for the first time in a long time, Zayn actually believed it when he told himself it’s going to be okay now.

Freedom hurt.

But it was better than living trapped in the past, unable to see, think, feel clearly.

Freedom might mean that he hurt, that he cried, but it also meant that he could maybe, one day, feel something else, something bright.

Zayn would survive.

***


End file.
